J2 Fic. Bars At My Window 1/?
Title: Bars At My Window
Author: Blueeyedliz
Summary: Jared Padalecki, guilty of auto theft, is put away in San Quentin. Jensen Ackles takes it upon himself to instruct the younger man in the brutal protocol of San Quentin and the strategies essential for survival. A friendship born of mutual need ends up becoming much more and one thing they’ll come to learn is that prison is no place for a love story.
Warning: Rated NC/17 for violence, non-con & bad language - this is a prison fic after all. Also please be aware that this story is a WIP. I’ve written 5 chapters of what is likely to be a 7 part story and I will get this finished, I’m having way too much fun to stop.
A/N: This story is based upon (& borrows shamelessly from) one of my favorite books, "The Animal Factory" by Edward Bunker and the movie of the same name. Special hugs to Heatherofnight & Scarlettraven9 for being my betas and more importantly for being the best most supportive friends I could ever hope to have in my corner. Last but never least, Sasquatch sized thanks to Amtamburo for her truly amazing artwork.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Jared, Jensen, any of the recognizable names or the book this story is based upon. This is written purely for fun and no disrespect is intended. This is pure fiction.
Fic Extras: Links to soundtrack which accompanies this fic (contains plot spoilers). Created by the wonderful Matty_Parkman. Bars Soundtrack Disc One, Bars Soundtrack Disc Two, Bars Soundtrack Disc Three
Part One
Jared Padalecki is young, only recently turned twenty-two, and fresh faced enough to look even younger than his years. Along with the other men in the windowless seventeen-foot jail bullpen he’s currently holed up in, he’s wearing a crisp white jumpsuit, a waist chain with handcuffs and a set of leg irons. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to do his outfit justice.
His attorney had tried to save him from prison but stealing a car, especially when you have a fine Porsche Boxster of your own -courtesy of Daddy’s massive pay-check-meant that Jared was going to be made into an example the minute he stepped into the court room. A high profile warning to all the other spoilt little rich-kids living the dream in La La Land that crime really doesn’t pay. The district attorney had even gone so far as to send a personal letter to the judge demanding prison.
Jared grins wanly, remembering what the deputy district attorney had called him in court, “the Fast and The Furious wannabe.” If only that smart-ass had known the half of it.
He did steal a car, that much is true. But he stole it with a half-empty bottle of vodka hidden inside his jacket pocket and a handful of his mom's sleeping pills churning in his stomach. Jared had planned to head for the hills and to drive straight off the road. The fact the car was stolen was the last thing on his mind that night, the only thing he had been able to think about was bringing about his own death as quickly as possible and it was something he’d been obsessing over silently for months.
The car-driver’s side door left hanging wide open while the owner chit-chattered with his jail bait girlfriend-was the sign Jared had been waiting for. He was drunk, pissed off at the world and here was the answer he had been waiting for, his perfect solution with moonlight gleaming off the polished hood. So Jared didn’t think twice when he slipped into the soft leather seat and drove the car away. At the time, he hadn’t known that the sleek black jeep belonged to an off-duty cop.
Jared was arrested a little over thirty minutes after first starting the jeep’s engine. He didn’t get to live fast and die young in the Hollywood hills as he had intended. He ran a red, weaved all over the road and only came to a stop when he hit a post-box. Just before the driver’s side air bag deployed with a startling ‘pop’ Jared caught a fleeting glimpse of bright red and blues flashing in his rear-view mirror.
After four months of cooling his heels in county jail waiting for a court hearing date, a stern faced judge had found Jared guilty and charged him with violation of Section 503 of the Vehicle Code, auto theft. His sentence was five years in San Quentin. The considerably harsh sentence was justified in the judge’s eyes because Jared had been drunk-driving and a 5oz bag of marijuana had been found in the pocket of his jeans.
Jared didn’t say a word as his sentence was announced and he remained silent as he was led in chains from the court room but from the corner of one blood-shot eye he saw his dad, inconsolable, with his head in his hands sobbing Jared’s name.
A blonde man, even younger than Jared is handcuffed beside him and as the motley group of men in the crowded bullpen is herded outside by three deputies in over-starched uniforms, a prison bus is waiting for them. “Okay assholes, this bus is on a one-stop trip to San Quentin, the Bastille by the bay. Get your last good look at the outside world ladies because for most of you miserable motherfuckers, it’s going to be a long time until you see it again.”
Jared and the blonde guy get a seat. The bus holds twenty and there are twenty-eight men, the aisle fills up quickly. The men on the bus take the deputy at his word. There’s a moment of almost total chaos when a car with a woman driver whips by and half the bus passengers press themselves against the dirty windows, trying to get the best angle to see down her low-cut blouse.
Jared is too tired. He has a keen interest in women as well as in men but his eyes feels gritty and his stomach has a hollowness inside of it which food can’t fill. Already thin, he’s lost almost twenty pounds from months of jail food. He drops his head back against the seat and tries to slide down but getting comfy isn’t really an option considering the cramped leg space and the tangle of heavy chains.
He’d take the opportunity to get some sleep if it wasn’t for the stab of fear in his belly which has been his constant companion ever since his sentence was given. Jared’s scared, scared badly and there’s no denying or getting around the cold hard truth of it. Prison is more than a walled in place; it’s an alien world of distorted values, ruled by a code of violence. And not a nice environment for an attractive young rich kid to spend any amount of time, let alone five long years.
Jared’s young but he’s not naive. A lot of the time in county jail, while he was waiting for his court date, he spent asking questions and listening to stories from old cons, trying to prepare himself mentally. But the stories did little more than enhance his trepidation. He has a five year sentence and thanks to the stories, he knows, damn well, that he’s unlikely to make it through his first year without being stabbed, raped or murdered. “You need to get in a gang.” That’s what one guy had told him, a pot-bellied fella with an impressive rap sheet of armed robberies. And yet it seemed that nearly all prison violence was attributed to gangs.
The way Jared sees it, he’s fucked regardless.
-0-
For his first few months in San Quentin, Jared keeps to his cell during the day, keeping out of trouble by avoiding situations. He reads a lot while he’s laid on his bunk and usually when something happens, it’s over by the time he hears about it. The level of violent behavior is high; it seems like almost every other day one gang is ambushing members of another gang or vice versa.
His cell mate is Mike Rosenbaum, a raging queen who is madly in love with himself and likes nothing more than teasing Jared about how one day he’s going to strip Jared of his pants and suck that pretty little cock of his. Mike’s words are playful rather than a genuine indication of his intentions and Jared is more than a little relieved that he’s ended up bunking with someone like Mike. Mike rags at him for not keeping his stuff tidy and he sings opera, badly, at all hours of the day but Mike fussed over him like a mother hen for those first few terrible nights when Jared couldn’t stop crying. In a screwed-up way, Mike reminds Jared of his mom. Or at least, how his mom used to be, before everything in Jared’s life went to hell in a hand-basket.
-0-
Jensen Ackles is twenty-six and someone who knows the American legal system better than anyone because he’s spent almost his entire existence being tossed from one form of cell to another. His parents died in a car crash when he was five. He spent three years living with an Aunt in Vancouver before she decided she couldn’t cope with raising a child as difficult to handle as Jensen. After that he was moved from foster home to foster home before settling in with a bad crowd. Then there were several long unhappy years in various juvenile detention centers before he was shipped to San Quentin when he hit the legal age.
The only time Jensen has enjoyed life on the outside is when he was breaking laws in order to get himself sent right back to prison again. Real life rejected Jensen, so from an early age, Jensen rejected real life. Half the crimes he’s committed-petty shoplifting, arson on derelict buildings-was because he wanted to be back inside. Prison is where he feels comfortable, where he feels at home. It’s screwed up and Jensen knows it but he’s always thought of himself as being screwed the day he was born. The outside world has always felt wrong to him, like he’s treading water in a vast ocean with no hint of land in sight.
-0-
It’s a muggy Tuesday morning in early June. Jensen is sitting on the bleachers out in the upper yard when he sees Chad Lindberg, a skinny young con with a mullet and a too pale complexion walking towards him. In tow is a tall slender youth wearing the stiff, unwashed denim of a new comer - fresh meat. Jensen likes to think he knows everyone in San Quentin, but this kid has somehow slipped under his radar. This kid, he would have remembered. His eyes are cat slanted hazel, bright and wide. He has dimples, goddamn dimples, Jensen thinks with an amused snort and while there’s nothing effeminate about the kid, he’s unquestionably a pretty one. By prison standards, he’s stunningly beautiful.
“I need a favor Jen, Jared here needs a show pass.” Chad points over at Jared, who is standing a little behind him shifting from one foot to the other. Chad waves him over and Jared closes the distance in two long strides before holding out his hand. “Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles.” Jensen gives Chad a hard look. On more than one occasion Jensen has warned Chad not to buddy up with a new fish. Because Chad becomes all attached and then ends up distraught when his latest companion gets himself purchased by one of ‘the sisters’ and is walking around with their eyebrows plucked like goddamn Betty Grable before the week is through.
“Pada-what-i?” Jensen asks forgoing the handshake in favor of a brief pat of Jared’s shoulder.
“Padalecki, it’s Polish.” Jared says, catching Jensen’s eye and smiling nervously.
“Well, then Polish. If I got the time, maybe I can rustle you up a pass.” Jensen says, watching Jared closely.
“If you can’t swing it Jen...” Chad begins to say before Jensen silences him with a raised hand.
“Badass, I run this prison. I’ll get Polish here his show pass.” Jensen stalks away without so much as a backward glance.
As they walk back across the yard, Jared turns to Chad. “He really runs this prison?”
“Who Jen? Shit no. He just talks the talk. You’ve seen the way he looks, there’s no way a guy who looks like that survives in this place. But Jen’s spent more time in the pen than out and he’s prison smart too. He stays on the good side of the guards and he’s got himself some protection.” Chad holds out his arm and points. Jared looks across the yard, squinting as the sunlight hits his eyes and watches Jensen’s slow amble as he approaches a group of four men. The group part before swallowing him up amidst a mix of loud cat-calls and over-enthusiastic friendly hugs.
There’s isn’t a great deal about being in San Quentin which could make someone like Jared jealous but right at that moment he’s envious of what Jensen has. Having real friends, friends who would watch your back and risk their own lives for yours is a rare thing in prison and something which a new kid can only hope to attain.
-0-
Half an hour before the night-time lock down, Jensen goes to the yard to sit in the evening sun. He plants himself down on a patch of balding grass by the East cellhouse wall, it means he’s going to get dirt on his pants but it’s the best place to watch the last light of the day flicker and die out.
The whistle blows, loud and shrill. Jensen watches the way the yard becomes crowded with convicts who are complaining loudly as they’re herded from the lower yard. Slowly but surely the swarm of bodies begins to form orderly lines. Jensen walks at a leisurely pace, letting himself move with the tide. He grins a wide smile in way of a greeting when Chad appears out of the throng, falling easily into step at his side. Chad leans in towards Jensen’s ear. “My buddy,” Chad says “the one I introduced you to today, he’s got a problem-”
Jensen’s ears instantly prick up. “Is that so?” Jensen snorts. “All I know is that some cocksucker in Sacramento should get a foot up his ass for sending him here...with us animals.”
“Somebody cut him in to Psycho Jeff.”
Jensen swears underneath his breath because he knows Psycho Jeff. He double-checks anyway, just to be sure because there are plenty of men in San Quentin who claim to be more than a little bit psychotic. “The dude who fire-bombed his boss’ house and killed that old lady?”
Chad nods. “Jeff’s been scheming on Jared. Did him a few favors. Got him phone credits, you know, the usual...before the youngster knew the score. Jared’s trying to back off now but Jeff’s homing in on him and he’s got that little clique of his.”
“A pretty kid like Jared is a ticket to trouble, first-fucking-class.”
“Remember that red haired kid that Psycho Jeff’s boys grabbed off the bus last year-ran a gang bang and then sold him to that old pervert in North Wing? The kid wound up in the psych ward.”
“It’s none of my business.” Jensen grinds out firmly but he can feel his resolve growing weaker as the memory of shining hazels grows stronger. “I’ve been in this shit-hole since I turned eight-teen and nobody has ever made me their property. Shit, I didn’t even smile for the first two years.”
“Jared ain’t no coward. He isn’t going to bend over and take what Jeff wants to give him. But he’s going to end up killing somebody...or himself.”
Jensen shakes his head and refuses to listen further, but when Chad is out of sight he finds his jaw muscles are so tight that his teeth ache. “What the fuck do I care?” Jensen mutters to himself and heads off in the direction of one of his buddies, Tommy, who is working with a mop and scrubbing at an open gutter close to the mess hall entrance.
-0-
Later that night, as the clack, clack, clack of cell doors being locked reverberates through the cell house, Jared stretches on the top bunk of his cell. He scratches a hand lazily across his stomach and picks up his pen to continue writing his fortnightly letter to his father. He tells his dad only the barest of details. He can’t write about the truly hideous world which is San Quentin, the daily violence or the frightening way in which he seems to be attracting more and more unwanted attention from sex starved cons. Just walking to his cell tonight had earned him several wolf whistles and he’d heard one voice, a thick drawling New Jersey accent, roll out from one of the cells and promise to do something nasty to that tight Texas ass of his.
Jared can feel hungry eyes on him all the time and even through he’s showered today, the way their eyes devour the sight of him makes Jared feel like he has a layer of grime on his skin that soap won’t touch. He can’t tell his dad, not any of it. He doesn’t want to destroy what’s left of his father’s broken heart and anyway, a letter with such troubling information would be returned by the censors.
Jared finishes his letter the same way he finishes all of his letters to his father. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. Please don’t worry about me. Fondest regards, Jared.”
Fondest fucking regards. There’s no ‘I love you’ but then, the ‘I love yous’ had shriveled up and died in the Padalecki household a long time ago. Probably around the time Jared caught his mom screwing the family’s gardener.
Jared goes to sleep listening to Mike singing "Non So Piu Cosa Son" from the Marriage of Figaro and dreams of a time when he was happy, back home in Texas, when his parents still only had eyes for no-one but each-other.
-0-
Part Two.
